


Dear Thomas

by vanishingbyler



Category: The Maze Runner (Movies), The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Divergence, Canon Divergence - Post-The Death Cure, M/M, Newt survives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2018-02-12
Packaged: 2019-03-17 10:49:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13657470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanishingbyler/pseuds/vanishingbyler
Summary: Thomas isn't ready to see Newt again after all he's put him through. Minho, some coffee, and a letter is what it takes to change his mind.





	Dear Thomas

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to part two of "josh rewrites the ending of the death cure bc the reality is too painful to face"

Thomas’ eyes flicker towards the door as it creaks open to reveal Minho on the other side. He has two tin mugs of what Thomas assumes is coffee, and shoots Thomas a comforting smile. 

 

“Any news?” Thomas’ voice breaks as he speaks, having been silent for days. 

“They gave him the serum when we first got here. Right now he's hooked up to a load of monitors. I don't know what the screens mean but… the doctors were talking, they said the word ‘promising’ a lot.”

 

Thomas breathes a shaky sigh of relief, bringing the mug to his lips and taking a sip. The coffee burns his throat a little, but it feels good. 

 

He was grateful for the defected WCKD scientists that had travelled with them to the safe haven. They brought with them medical knowledge and minimal equipment that could be used to help people. What they had wasn't much, but it was the best hope they had of making Newt better. Thomas isn't religious, but he finds himself praying for it to work. Everytime he closes his eyes he can see the boy, his best friend, the love of his fucking life writhing around on the ground in desperation, screaming for Thomas to kill him. He breaks inside as he envisions Newt with his veins turning black and the life seeping out of him through the cracks in his psyche that the virus had created. Thomas doesn't want to think about it anymore. 

 

“Thomas? Can I ask you something?”

He sighed. “Shoot.”

“How long have you and Newt been…” Minho paused, mulling over his words in an attempt to find the right way of phrasing this. “Together?”

Thomas stiffened, his grip on the coffee cup tightening. “Guess we weren't as subtle as we thought.” he mumbled, bitterness edging his words. 

“I knew there was something from the day you came up in the Box, shank. Newt's never looked at anyone the way he looked at you that first time.”

 

Thomas sighs. He figured someone would have clocked his and Newt’s relationship, but he assumed it would've been Brenda or someone, somebody that had seen the two of them during the hunt for Minho. 

 

“Almost nine months. He asked me when we were with the Right Arm. I-” He faltered. “I was the one that decided not to say anything about it. I kept thinking it wasn't the right time, that- just- Fuck.” He stopped again, inhaling shakily. “I figured there was too much going on for Newt and I to make a thing out of our happiness.”

 

He cringes at his own words. He hates how pretentious he sounds, and at the very fact he'd kept the best thing in his life a secret. 

 

“If I could go back, I wouldn't hide it. I'd scream it from the rooftops, to anyone who'd listen.”

“You know what I’m about to say, don't you?”

Another sigh. “That we only have right now.”

“Uh-huh. And right now, he's through there getting better. He looks good, Thomas, I promise you. You wouldn't know he was a Crank-”

“He's not a Crank! Fuck that. He's sick but he's not a Crank.”

“You know I didn't mean it like that. I mean… go see him, Thomas. He needs you.”

 

Thomas says nothing, instead subconsciously bringing his hand to fiddle with the pendant that had hung around his neck since Newt gave it to him days before.

 

He tries to picture Newt in his mind, before everything. He wants to see the boy as he was at his best, before the Flare destroyed him. Granted, Thomas still found him breathtaking even when he physically looked to be falling apart, but it still feels better to conjure up an image of him when the early morning sun cast a golden glow across his eyelashes, and his dusty blond locks tousled by the wind. Seeing that sensitive smile that Newt reserved only for Thomas, the glint in his eye that screamed ‘ _ I love you!’  _ every time he stared into his boyfriend’s face.

 

As Thomas rubs the necklace like it’s some kind of lucky charm, it breaks. Well, seems to. The top cap that attaches itself to the string comes apart from the glass cylinder, and Thomas’ breath hitches in his throat, almost a sob, until he realises that it was always supposed to come apart. Inside the tube is a rolled up sheet of paper, scratchy handwriting across it.

 

The second Minho sees ‘ _ Dear Thomas’,  _ he gets up to leave. He figures his friend would want to be alone as he reads this. Thomas is grateful.

 

His heart clenches as he reads ‘ _ Dear Thomas’ _ . He makes himself read on.

 

_ ‘This is the first letter I can remember writing. Obviously I don’t know if I wrote any before the Maze. But, even if this isn’t my first letter, it’s likely to be my last.’ _

 

Thomas feels another pang of guilt, knowing that he’s the reason so much of Newt’s life has been erased from his mind. Newt’s told him a million times that he doesn’t mind, he forgives him, that Thomas gave him his life back after the Maze, but Thomas can’t help but feel like the most evil thing on the planet.

 

_ ‘I just want you to know I’m not scared. Not of dying, anyway, it’s more forgetting. It’s losing myself to this virus, that’s what scares me. _

 

_ So every night I’ve been saying their names out loud. Alby. Winston. Chuck.’ _

 

Thomas freezes when he reads Chuck’s name. He heaves for a second, pictures of memories that he’d buried deep. It hurts to think of Chuck, the small boy who’d had so much love and hope and  _ promise  _ in his heart. Thomas can’t help but feel that Chuck would still be alive if he hadn't been around. Lots of people would; Newt especially. He would never have contracted the virus if he was still in the Maze.

 

_ ‘And I just repeat them over and over like a prayer, and it all comes flooding back. _

 

_ Just the little things, like the way the sun hit the Glade at that perfect moment right before it slipped beneath the walls. And I remember the taste of Frypan’s stew. I never thought I’d miss that stuff so much.’ _

 

Thomas laughs, choking a little on the tears that have started making their way down his cheeks. He thinks of the stew, promises himself that if Newt gets through this-  _ when,  _ he corrects internally.  _ When  _ Newt gets through this- he’ll have Frypan make that goddamn stew every night for a week.

 

_ ‘And I remember you.’ _

 

That’s the line that breaks Thomas. The line where everything he’s been trying to keep back floods into his mind and out through his eyes like a fucking hurricane of pain.

 

_ ‘I remember the first time you came up in the Box, just a scared little greenie who couldn’t even remember his own name. I remember the night I held you as you cried, so terrified of this world you didn’t understand. I remember when we kissed, and all the times I told you that you were a bloody idiot (which you are), and I especially remember when I asked you to be mine. _

 

_ From that moment you ran into the Maze I knew that I would follow you anywhere. And I have. We all have. If I could do it all again, I would, and I wouldn’t change a thing.’ _

 

“Why?” Thomas finds himself muttering. “Why the hell would you put yourself through this again?” 

 

Thomas isn’t worth following, he thinks. He never was. He can’t begin to fathom why Newt, knowing full well as he does that Thomas designed the Maze, made it so all of the boys, young and defenseless as they were, got thrown into that place that got so many of them killed, would possibly be willing to rewind and do everything the same. Even Thomas wouldn’t.

 

_ ‘My hope for you, is that when you’re looking back, years from now, you’ll be able to say the same. _

 

_ The future’s in your hands now Tommy, and I know you’ll find a way to do what’s right. You always have.’ _

 

Right now, in this moment, as he pictures Newt lying in the tent full of WCKD’s stolen medical equipment, hooked up to all these monitors and medications that Thomas will never understand, he can’t see what Newt means. He can’t think of a future where he won’t regret the things he’s been through, the things he’s put other people through. He doesn’t think he’s done anything right.

 

That’s a lie. Saying yes to Newt was the best thing he’s ever done, the most  _ right  _ that anything can be.

 

_ ‘Take care of everyone for me. And take care of yourself. You deserve to be happy.’ _

 

Thomas’ heart feels full for just a second, before he realises that Newt wrote this fully expecting to die. He wrote it asking Thomas to be happy in a world without the love of his life. He scoffs. He wouldn’t deserve happiness in a world where his stupidity had cost Newt his life.

 

_ ‘Thank you for being mine. _

 

_ Goodbye, love, _

_ Newt.’ _

 

Thomas can’t stop the tears streaming down his cheeks now. He doesn’t want to think what state of mind Newt must have been in to write something so… final. So complete.

 

He knows Newt must have lost all hope of a cure by the time he wrote this. When did he write it? It must have been fairly recently, since he hasn’t been infected for long. But Thomas can’t think of a time within the last week or two where they’ve been more than a metre apart. He hasn’t one seen Newt with a paper and pen doing anything other than drawing up plans. At night they slept tangled in each others’ arms, woke up the same way. In the day, they travelled so close together that their fingers brushed more often than not.

 

So does that mean Newt wrote this long ago? In the Scorch, with the Right Arm? Hell, even back in the Glade? Did he see this future sneaking up on him like a vicious serpent, an unavoidable certainty that would strike him at some time or another, steal his life like the Flare had stolen those of countless people before him? Had he started this journey knowing he’d never reach the end?

 

Thomas can’t bear the oppressive weight of the air around him. He stumbles to his feet and blindly makes his way to where he knows Newt is.

 

They’ve been here three days. Newt has been in the care of the med-jacks and WCKD scientists that whole time, not once being moved. Thomas hasn’t seen him. He woke up from the deep sleep his injuries had forced him into around 24 hours after their arrival. He heard word of Newt’s condition and vowed to stay away, not to force his curse on Newt or get his hopes up before he knew for a fact the cure had worked. He’s spent the last two days hiding away, around various corners in shadows where he hoped nobody would find him. Until now, only Minho had. Minho would find him anywhere- he, Thomas, and Newt had an unbreakable bond after everything they’d been through, could read each other’s thoughts in a way not even Teresa had with Thomas, and the two of them had a literal telepathic bond. Minho knew him better. And now Newt is practically comatose, and Teresa is gone, never to come back into their lives  _ (don’t think about it Thomas, don’t think don’t think don’t think) _ , he needs that closeness more than ever.

 

He sees Minho by the entrance of where Newt is being kept. ( _ “Kept”,  _ Thomas thinks bitterly,  _ “Like he’s some science experiment or a goddamn zoo animal.” _ ) Minho gestures for Thomas to come to him, pulls him into a tight hug.

 

“I was just going to come back for you,” he whispers, “Newt’s awake. He’s asking for you.”

 

Thomas’ heart leaps in his throat, and he thanks Minho hurriedly before running inside, wiping the tears from his cheeks as he goes. He sees Newt instantly, and one of the med-jacks greets him.

 

He doesn't recognise her. For obvious reasons- he never got much chance to mix with Group B, especially any that weren't close to Aris.

 

“Thomas?”

“Uh- yeah. Hi.” He doesn't want to seem rude, but it's like his eyes are drawn to Newt. He's so close, and the only thing in his way is this girl.

“It’s good to meet you, I’m Samantha. I’ve been watching Newton-”   
“Newt. His name’s Newt.”   
“Newt, sorry. He’s been asking for you. I just have to make sure you’re aware of stuff. First off, you can touch him so long as you don’t disrupt any of the equipment. Don’t expect too much, okay? He’s not totally recovered yet, his emotions are still out of whack. He’s better, yeah, but better and good aren’t the same thing.”

“Okay. Can I see him yet?”

“Yeah, just-”

“Can I see him? Please, I just wanna see my boyfriend.”

 

She smiles sympathetically and gestures for him to move on to Newt’s bed. He practically sprints across the short distance to him, collapsing into the bedside chair like it's the most important place in the world. In a way, it is.

 

Tears are streaking down his face again, but they're happy tears now. He's happy because Newt looks so  _ Newt _ .

 

Tired, yes. Frail, yes. But the sickliness that had radiated off him just days before has seemingly vanished. His skin is warm toned, clear, and happy. When his eyes move to zone in on Thomas’ own, the brunet finds himself on the edge of jumping for joy, because they’re shining and chestnut brown and the blood that had seeped into the whites last time he saw them is gone.

 

“Tommy.” Newt smiles, reaching a shaky hand out to cup his boyfriend’s cheek.

“Newt.” he chokes back, closing his eyes and allowing a tear to drip onto Newt’s fingers.

“I missed you.”

“I love you so much.” Thomas says, shaking with emotion as he leans in to hug Newt as tightly as humanly possible without dislodging the numerous tubes, monitors, and electrodes stuck to him. He buries his face in Newt’s chest, breathing deeply, inhaling the familiarity of the dusty warmth that Newt always gives off.

 

They stay together like that for almost an hour, until every other sentence that comes from Newt’s mouth was cut short by yawns. Thomas holds his hand like a lifeline, watching him to make sure he’s okay. When Newt has fallen totally asleep, his eyelids fluttering and breath coming in soft, steady waves, the med-jack comes back over.

 

She smiles at Thomas, and he gets the message straight away. Much as it kills him to do so, he lets go of his boyfriend’s hand and, after one last kiss on the forehead, leaves to go back to his quarters.

 

***

 

It’s a few weeks later that the scientists finally release Newt. Thomas picks him up from the medical wing and they amble slowly towards the tent Thomas has been staying in. There are hammocks, as they’ve grown used to, but also a bed that looks pretty similar to the one Newt has been in since his arrival in the safe haven. The people building the homes here weren’t sure of anything about Newt’s condition, whether he was too weak to clamber into a hammock. They gave him a bed just in case, but neither Newt nor Thomas feel like complaining- it’s pretty difficult to fall asleep cuddling in something that is literally just a sheet of cloth strung between two posts.

 

That night, as they lie together under the numerous blankets of the bed, Newt whispers something, unsure if his boyfriend is awake to listen.

 

“I remember. I remember before the Maze.”

“Hmm?” Thomas mumbles back, not tired enough to ignore Newt’s words.

“I remember stuff from before the Maze. I’m not sure if the virus sent everything WCKD did tits up, but… I don’t know. I just remember.”

“What do you remember?”

“Just little things. Flashes. Like glimpses of something I haven’t seen before, but I know I have. Nothing totally clear but just… stuff. I remember you, Tommy.”

Thomas gulps, rolling over to lock eye contact with Newt. “What about me?”

“The way they treated you differently. The way you used to hang out with us after dark, and how we showed you the whole facility. I remember it. And-” he pauses, his eyes shifting. Thomas shoots him an encouraging glance, squeezing his hand gently and placing a soft kiss on his cheek. “I remember we kissed. The night before I went into the Maze, you came and found me. Just me. And we kissed. You promised you’d find me a cure.”

 

Thomas rolls over, pulls Newt closer. He kisses him once, twice, three times around his face, the fourth one landing square on the fragile boy’s chapped lips.

 

“And I did.”

Newt smiles, nestling into his boyfriend's chest. “You did.” 

 

They fall asleep that way.

 


End file.
